Without a Shadow - Julie Steimle (best books under 200 pages .txt) 📗

into a calmer frame of mind, relaxing my brow. Taking in and letting out one more breath, I focused my last energies on relaxing the muscles in my back. I sank once more into my mattress, sighing.

And then I jumped out of my bed, standing on my covers, trembling all over as I wiped off whatever it was that felt like it was clinging to my back. My eyes scanned my pillow, my blankets, my bed. Nothing. A crawly sensation traveled up my neck.

Leaping off my bed, I landed on the floor, swiping at whatever it was that was on me. I felt it! It was on my back and hanging on! I reached behind me and firmly took hold of the thing that I was sure clung to my nightshirt, and I pulled.

Big mistake. It hurt worse than when the neighbor’s cat dug his claws into me when I tried to get it out of the tree. I was pulling something that was attached to me. No (I blinked), something that was part of me!

I ran to my vanity mirror, but of course my reflection wasn’t there so I couldn’t see anything. Reaching back to where the things were attached, thinking it was one of those imp creatures attacking me, I took another yank. It still hurt—like pulling on my fingernails.

My back itched like crazy now. I tried scratching, but it did no good. And besides having this thing on my back that I could not see or remove, I found the source of the itch and thing on my back were one and the same—and it just felt like I really needed to stretch. Closing my eyes, I drew in another breath. The pain was killing me. So, following my instincts, I pushed out with my shoulder blades and stretched.

The feeling was like…like…I really don’t know how to describe it. I suppose it was almost like being constipated, only not that gross. You know, painful pressure—but only if you keep pushing does it feel better. The end sensation was amazing. It was as if my muscles had been all wound up until now. Now, my cramped muscles relaxed at last.

I glanced back once to see exactly what happened. I had a slight hold on the bed, so this time I did not fall to the floor in astonishment. But still, I discovered the largest, blackest, set of wings—like a bat’s—no…cooler—like a dragon’s, coming out from behind my back. I did slip, but as I fell, my wings (yes, MY wings) swooped up air at once to catch me. Instinctively they did. I did it, actually. I thought it, I felt it, and I acted on it. I caught myself before I fell down.

By now I was wide awake. The back of my pajama top was torn and falling down my shoulders. The ragged scraps of it dangled near my waist. I had to catch one end and tie it to the other to keep it on, and I did so because I did not want to retract my wings just yet. Oh, boy. My heart pounded in excitement. This new discovery was freaky and yet exciting. I mean, how many kids get to have wings big enough to fly with? I had to try it out.

I flung open the window, gazed at the cloud cover over the night sky, and climbed onto the window ledge. A nagging feeling tugged at me, reminding me that I had to keep my promise to my mother.

But the exhilaration and the call to go out yanked on me harder. I glanced once at the clock. It read five minutes past eleven. Our curfew was midnight. Smiling to myself, I nodded. I would return by midnight.

Never had I done anything so rash, but who cared by then? I stood up on the window ledge, letting my wings open out. If I fell and broke both of my legs, I knew I would deserve it, but my confidence in my new wings’ strength outweighed that reasonable concern. I took one step and leapt.

I crashed into a tree. It was in our neighbor’s yard several feet away. But like a fledgling, I didn’t know how to steer yet, and I hung up to my armpits in branches and yellow leaves. My wings had retracted, I suppose to protect themselves. I had to pull them out again to take flight once more. The second leap into the sky was more successful.

The cold air whipped against my face. I didn’t feel it much though. It was like surfing with the waves beating against me. I kept spinning, flapping, and turning, feeling the wind and hearing the bats flutter around chasing after insects. I twisted and dove among them, but when I got a mouthful of bugs I stopped doing that. When it got late, I headed back towards home, flying over Mr. McDillan’s house on the way. His lights were still on. I blinked, staring down at his undecorated front porch—the only non-Halloween decorated place on the block. He stood right there on the walkway, looking up, directly at me. His eyes narrowed, and in his hands was a sharpened broom handle. He scraped the wood to the tip with his knife, letting a loose wood curl fall.

My heart jumped a beat. With one jumbo flap of my increasingly experienced wings, I soared up in the air several feet. Another flap took me way far from his house and back toward Jane’s place. I decided it was unwise to share this new phenomenon with my friend, and I continued on. Sharp teeth, vanishing shadows and reflections, and even tiny little imps were nothing compared to gigantic wings growing out of my back. With my heart pounding wildly in my chest, I knew now that I really had to get home.

I climbed into my window. The clock said eleven fifty-seven. I hopped onto the floor and tried to retract my wings like I had done in the tree when I first flew outside. The sensation was nothing like folding up a fan. It felt more like kneeling, pulling into a cramped position. Tighter and tighter I pulled in until I could feel nothing more than an itch on my shoulder blades. I reached over my shoulder to touch the skin where the wings had been and felt the flatness where I was sure my birthmark was. Sighing, I turned and shut the window. Closing the latch, I noticed a slightly larger bat flutter by the glass. I blinked at it. Then the bat paused, as if looking into my room. I shook my head and closed the curtains. I heard the clock hum as it changed numbers. It now read midnight. I sighed and opened my bedroom door.

The house was still. I walked down the stairs, barefoot over the carpet, looking around the darkened place. Things had changed. I was no longer the same Eve that woke up this morning. I was something else. Glancing about the room, I sighed to myself, thinking of all the generosity my parents had shown me, of the love they had given me, and of the family they let me be a part of. I had been a happy child. I had no reason to want anything. They taught me right from wrong, expected me to act as I had been taught, and they continued to challenge me as I grew up. In this day and age I was extremely lucky. So why was I now feeling as if I was the recipient of a cruel prank?

Shivers ran through me. I knew why. I had a wonderful life, and now it was changing. I started to worry that I might destroy these wonderful people’s lives. Was I some monster sent to terrorize and ruin them?

I walked to the refrigerator and opened it. Gazing blearily at the contents, I let out another sigh and took out the jug of milk. Setting it on the counter, I went to the cupboards for a cup.

“Can’t sleep?”

I jumped. Clutching the glass to my chest so it wouldn’t drop, my eyes fell on my father who stood nearby in his fuzzy bear claw slippers and brown striped robe. His eyes widened as he gazed across the breakfast bar at me. I heard his heart quiver, and he nodded, looking me up and down.

He gestured at me with his hand. “When did this change start to happen?”

I blinked, glanced about myself, then realized that my wings were out a little. They were smaller—not big enough to carry me very far. I closed my eyes and put the glass on the table. “Tonight. About an hour ago.”

My father wet his lips, preparing to say something. But he just shut it again and walked over to the bar to sit down, reaching also for the milk. I got him a glass, trying to retract my wings. I could tell he was watching me. His heart pounded more as I moved.

“Honey…” he said in a voice that cracked slightly. I turned to look at him, trying to meet his eyes but no quite succeeding, afraid of what I might see there. “I think it is about time I was more honest with you about your adoption.”

This was not what I expected. I met his gaze more directly now.

“Do you remember how I used to joke that a bat dropped you on our laps on Halloween fourteen years ago?” he said.

I nodded, pouring myself some milk.

“Your mom thought it was a bad idea to let me continue talking about it, but the thing is, it really isn’t a joke. That is the real story.” My father started to rub at the grout between the tiles on the kitchen counter. I handed him my full glass, filling the other cup.

“You can’t be serious,” I said with a shake of my head. My wings itched to come out again, but I held them in, now knowing what that itching meant.

He lifted his head and tried to smile comfortingly at me. “I am. When it happened, your mother was pregnant with Dawn, as you know. We even took you to social services to find your parents, but of course none could be found. Then when that old nut, Mr. McDillan, came into town and swore you were a vampire—we really had to fight off the prejudice.”

I swallowed, blinking at him. “Mr. McDillan thinks I’m a vampire?”

My father grimaced a little. “We got a court order to keep him away from you. When he ended up as your History teacher, we started to worry but—”

I interrupted my father. “So you knew I was not normal.”

He looked at me straight. “What’s normal?”

I didn’t expect that response. My father was about as normal as they come.

He seemed to read my thoughts. “Eve, look. When you came to us, you were like a gift. You were the sweetest baby, the most honest child…. We never had any real trouble with you except for a few genetic problems that could be easily cured with a little lotion, some sunglasses, and an occasional tooth filing. You were, and are, a darling, wonderful child. You are a part of our family. No matter what happens, we will always love you.”

My entire body trembled. I walked around the breakfast bar and threw my arms around my father, hugged him tight. His arms embraced me, and I knew where I wanted to be. My family was the most wonderful thing in the world and nothing—not even new wings—could replace it. Deep in my heart, I wished that I could be with my family forever.

We had cried a few tears, drank up our milk, and walked arm in arm back upstairs. I dropped into my bed and fell into a contented sleep. I did not awake until morning.